


Sun Phoenix

by verhalen



Series: Northern Lights [7]
Category: Multi-Fandom, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, Worldweavers - Multiverse
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Brother-Sister Relationships, Cats, Depression, Domestic Violence, Family, Family Feels, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Choking, Force Sensitivity, Gay Male Character, Gen, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Magical Realism, Mental Health Issues, No Smut, Past Child Abuse, Protectiveness, Recovery, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Siblings, Suicide Attempt, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Time Skips, Trans Female Character, Transitioning, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 03:04:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18327341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen
Summary: Set chronologically between chapter 23 and chapter 28 ofDon't Threaten Me With A Good Time, Sören has to start his life over again in Iceland, with some help from his sister Margrét.  Featuring a guest appearance from a certain former Balrog in Spiced_Wine'sDark Prince'verse.TRIGGER WARNING: The first part of the story deals with abuse from Sören's past, including his sister's experience with transphobia, which is why this story gets the M rating.





	Sun Phoenix

**1995**  
 _Akureyri, Iceland_  
  
Sören could feel it before he heard it - the sound of his uncle Einar opening Magnús's door, the telltale sound of the belt.  
  
"Get up," Einar growled. It was after eleven-thirty at night, and the kids had school tomorrow; they needed to be sleeping at this hour. Sören had not been able to sleep, tense and anxious like he was waiting for a storm - he knew why, now. He often knew things, before they happened, but not always.  _Not often enough._  But Sören didn't have to have the gifts he had to know what was about to take place. It was all too familiar.  
  
"I said get up, you little bitch!"  
  
"Uncle, please..." came Magnús's voice. He was fourteen, and slightly built. Einar had over a foot and two hundred pounds on him.  
  
"You even whine like a little bitch! I told you what would happen the next time I caught you wearing dresses and makeup, now take your punishment like a fucking man!"  
  
The sound of the belt again, and Einar's feet moving closer to the bed. Before Sören knew what he was doing, he found himself getting out of bed, and rushing into his brother's room, getting between Einar and Magnús, climbing on top of Magnús and shielding him.  
  
"Go away," Sören told his uncle, shaking with fury.  
  
"Oh, look at you. You think you're tough, do you?" Einar lashed out with the belt, whipping Sören's shoulder. Sören flinched, crying out with pain, but he held fast.  
  
"You're a bully and a coward," Sören snarled. "You think you're a big man, beating up an eleven-year-old boy? You're a piece of shit."  
  
Einar's response was to lash with the belt again. Sören took another hit, and then he did something he knew he'd be punished for later - he waved his hand and made the belt fly out of Einar's hands. Then he waved his hand again and knocked Einar over.  
  
Sören got up off the bed, even though he was in so much pain from the sting of the belt across his back that he could barely stand. He slowly walked towards Einar. He lifted his hand and the belt rose in the air and flew into his hand. "How would you like a taste of your own medicine, you disgusting fuck?"  
  
Einar leaned over and headbutted Sören, hard enough that it knocked Sören to the floor. Then Sören felt Einar grab him by the tail of his shirt, pull him up, and headbutt him again. Einar slapped him across the face, once, twice, and then his hand reached around Sören's throat and started choking him.  
  
"You're the piece of shit," Einar barked at him.  
  
Sören couldn't breathe, and tried to push with what he could of his power to break the grip, but Einar was too strong. The room was starting to swim.  
  
Einar went on. "You dare challenge me? You are  _nothing._  You will never be anything  _but_  nothing. You are  _worthless._  A worthless little shit who defends a worthless little bitch."  
  
"Uncle, if you don't let go of him he's going to choke to death and we'll have to explain murder to the police," Magnús said.  
  
Einar let go, and Sören felt his breath come back in a rattling gasp that burned. He blinked back tears with the shock of pain - if Einar saw him crying it would just make things worse. He was already going to get it tomorrow for moving things with his mind after having it beaten out of him so many times.  
  
Einar got up, gave Sören and Magnús both a look, grabbed his belt, and spat before he stormed out of the room.  
  
Magnús started crying. "I'm sorry. I would have tried to fight him, but I'm not as strong with that as you are..."  
  
Sören weakly pulled himself up and came over to his older brother, giving him a hug.  
  
"It's not right," Magnús said. "I'm older. I should be the one defending you..."  
  
"You get it far worse than I do," Sören said. "We all look out for each other."  
  
Magnús held Sören tight. "I owe you my life."  
  
"You are my blood. You owe me nothing."  
  
  
_  
  
  
 **2006**  
  
Twenty-two-year-old Sören Sigurdsson was having the worst year of his life.  
  
Less than a year ago, he'd been a med student, having a clerkship in rural western Iceland. He'd decided to go into medicine at a young age, motivated by finding his mother dead at age six, determined to save people. But during his clerkship he lost an elderly patient to a particularly bad bout of influenza, and had seen other death, as well as permanent serious injuries that would leave patients crippled for life, and one of his patients suffered a miscarriage. Sören didn't just see it, he  _felt_  it, and it was too much for him.  
  
He'd attempted suicide, and was in the hospital for a month. While he was there, he began art therapy, and his work got some notice. When he was discharged, he decided to try to show his work at a gallery in Reykjavik, which turned into him becoming the sugar baby of the gallery owner. Five months later, he came home to find out he was being replaced with a new boytoy.  
  
He'd spent the last several weeks couchsurfing, trying to save up enough money to get a flat of his own, working while juggling appointments for medication and therapy. He was exhausted, and feeling increasingly like his hope was running out.  
  
And then he got the call from Magnús, who had started going by Margrét. Margrét was up in Akureyri, still living with their uncle Einar and aunt Katrín, despite the ongoing abuse, because Margrét was broke and didn't have options.  
  
Or didn't until now.  
  
"Sören. Can you come get me?"  
  
"...Now?" Sören looked at the time, he still had an hour left on his shift. "I can't afford a plane ticket..."  
  
"Drive up? I know it's five and a half hours from Reykjavik, but..."  
  
"OK... what's going on?"  
  
"Einar is on a bender and called me and threatened to kill me when he gets home and I really think he's going to do it this time. I tried to leave an hour ago and Katrín isn't letting me go anywhere, like she physically got in my way. I don't want to get the police involved."  
  
"Fuck." Sören took a deep breath. "OK. I'm on my way."  
  
Sören told his boss he had to go immediately - "family emergency" - and was promptly fired. He would have to find another job when he got back, easier said than done in his current situation. He predicted he and Margrét were going to be living in his jeep for awhile.  
  
He drove to Akureyri as fast as he could. It was late when he got there, and on his way to the house he saw Einar's car a few vehicles behind his, tailing him. Sören sped, practically flying out of the jeep when he pulled up. He still had a key, and Katrín gave him a look of shock when he walked in.  
  
"I'm here to get my sister," Sören said.  
  
"You don't have a sister," Katrín hissed. "You have a degenerate brother -"  
  
"Katrín, shut up," Sören growled. He stepped forward, and Katrín got in his way, giving him a shove. Then she slapped Sören across the face. Sören didn't believe in hitting women, but his patience was being tried -  
  
Einar stomped in. "Well, look who we have here."  
  
Sören whirled around, and took an elbow to the face. Einar pushed him to the floor, then, and stepped on Sören's balls as he walked over him, making his way to Margrét's room.  
  
"Magnús! Guess what!" Einar's voice rang out. "I'm home. Just like I promised."  
  
"Uncle..." Margrét's voice shook. "Uncle, please..."  
  
"How nice of you to invite your little brother here. You think he can save you?" Einar laughed. "He can watch." Einar began taking off his belt. "He can learn how to be a real man, with what I'm about to do to you."  
  
"Uncle no..."  
  
"Oh yes. You've been acting like a little bitch all these years... you will finally get what little bitches get."  
  
Sören's mouth flew open, realizing what Einar was about to do. And then when he looked up, he saw the look on Katrín's face, who also had that realization, and there was terror in her eyes.  
  
Katrín stepped into Margrét's room, behind her husband. "Einar..." She took his elbow. "Einar, no. Not this..."  
  
Einar backhanded her, and Sören watched as blood came out of Katrín's nose. Then Einar continued taking off his belt, and unzipped his pants. Katrín lunged for him, once again trying to stop him, and he punched her, and kicked her to the ground.  
  
Sören sat up. His eyes met Katrín's. Katrín's voice stammered "Y-your eyes. They're... they're orange. What's happening..."  
  
 _I am on fire._  Sören could feel himself burning internally, seething, like a volcano ready to explode. He grabbed a hold of the couch and pulled himself up, weak and trembling with pain, the pain shooting from his trampled balls especially. He put his index and middle fingers in his mouth and whistled.  
  
Einar turned around. Sören put out his hand and Einar flew two feet off the ground, held immobile, and then Sören clenched his hand into a fist and, still suspended mid-air, Einar stopped breathing. Sören's rage was focused into perfect calm now, holding Einar captive, draining the life force from him.  
  
Even as Einar's face changed colors, Sören kept his fist clenched, kept his grip on Einar, until he felt the spark go out from him, snuffed out like a candle, and there was the stench of urine and shit as Einar's body evacuated. Sören unclenched his fist and Einar's lifeless body dropped to the floor.  
  
Katrín dropped to her knees beside him, sobbing.  
  
The hand that had been the clenched fist, projecting the energy drain, was shaking now. Sören looked at his hand in disbelief. He felt numb shock.  _I did that_.  
  
"The coroner's report will likely say he died of a sudden cardiac arrest," Sören said, sounding as cold and clinical as he did when he was an intern, pronouncing judgment on the dead and dying. "I would recommend just telling the paramedics and the police that's all that happened, he had a heart attack and dropped dead."  
  
Katrín nodded, and then buried her face in her hands. It was the first and only time Sören had felt truly sorry for his aunt - abuser though she was, she had also been a victim of Einar's abuse, and nowhere had that been more evident than tonight.  
  
It was the first and only time Sören Sigurdsson had committed homicide. He had used his power before, a lighter, softer version of it, to give a peaceful death to a few of his patients who were already dying and suffering in their final hours. But this was pure rage. This was not clean, the way the euthanasia had been clean. Some dark abyss inside him was screaming for blood - it took him every ounce of his restraint to not finish off his aunt, too, for all the abuse she'd put them through.  
  
And even as he knew he had been right to do what he did, he was saving his sister, he still felt like he was going to vomit.  _Murderer_ , his inner voice screamed.  _Kinslayer._  
  
Morality could come later. Sören looked across at Margrét, who had been packing bags as she waited for rescue. "Let's get out of here," Sören said.  _Let's get out of here before I kill Katrín._  
  
They didn't say a word until they were on the road. Then Margrét just said, "I owe you my life," her voice shaking.  
  
_  
  
  
 **2007**  
 _Reykjavik, Iceland_  
  
Margrét managed a weak smile as Sören stepped inside the hospital room, carrying a balloon attached to a large pink bunny doll, the pink bunny dressed in a floral print bonnet and dress.  
  
For a moment Sören sat at his sister's bedside and they just looked at each other, not saying anything, not knowing what to say. It had only been a few days, but it felt like years had passed.  
  
Finally Sören said, "I'm glad you're alive."  
  
Margrét sighed. "I wish I could say the same thing."  
  
"Já, which is why you're in here." Sören leaned back in his chair, and ran a nervous hand through his curls. "At least you didn't throw me out on sight, I was kind of worried you'd do that considering I called the paramedics and all."  
  
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't pissed off at you," Margrét said, nodding. "But." She took the pink bunny and hugged it. "I'm, ah... I got the diagnosis. They're going to help me start transitioning."  
  
Sören breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank fucking god."  
  
Margrét closed her eyes, rocking as she hugged the bunny tighter. "As badly as I want this - as badly as I  _need_  it - I'm scared. I'm so, so fucking scared. The hormones. The surgery. It's... a lot."  
  
"You'll get through it," Sören said. He reached across and put his hands on her feet, looking at the painted toenails, tweaking her big toe. "You've made it this far, and we've been through some  _shit_. You especially."  
  
"I'm tired." Margrét sounded very old, even though she was only twenty-six. "I'm very, very tired."  
  
"I know. But at least now..." Sören took a deep breath. "It's going to be OK. You'll get the hormones and the surgery, you've got people you can talk to while it's happening... and me, Ari, and Dag are all on your side. You're tired, but there's this fire in us that refuses to die. That keeps burning. And it's a fire that transforms." He gestured to the flame tattoos on his arm, that led out to a fiery phoenix on his back, paired with a phoenix made of water. "We've all had our trials by fire, our transformations. This is yours."  
  
Margrét opened her grey eyes, too bright with unshed tears. "You make it sound like some glorious thing. This isn't glorious. It fucking hurts."  
  
"You are glorious," Sören told her. He took his phone out of his pocket, selected a media folder, then a file, and passed it over. "This just a work in progress, but..."  
  
In the photo of Sören's work in progress painting, Margrét was crowned with the sun, wearing golden silk robes, wielding a scepter. Behind her was an altar, covered with blood, and Margrét smiled bitterly at what she recognized as the severed head of their uncle Einar, his entrails strewn across the table as if she would read auguries from them.  
  
Then she took a better look and saw the breasts, and swirls of runic tribal paint like she was a warrior queen. She choked back a sob as she passed the phone over.  
  
"Dammit, Sören." Margrét shook her head. "That's not even done yet and it's beautiful."  
  
"I can say the same about you." Sören got up and put his arms around her, and she didn't refuse. Sören stroked her hair, pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "I miss you, and you're going to come home soon, and I'll take you to and from your appointments and I'll be here every step of this journey." He tilted her face to his, smoothed a stray lock of her curls, and stroked her cheek. "You told me twice you owe me your life. Well... you owe me this. I want to watch you become who you really are."  
  
Margrét squeezed him, sobbing into his shoulder.  
  
  
_  
  
 **2018**  
 _Greenwich, London, England_  
  
"Sören, I brought you dinner."  
  
Sören usually mumbled a "not hungry" to Frankie, who he'd been staying with for the last two weeks, after Dooku broke up with him. Sören hadn't eaten much at all, only eating when Frankie climbed up on his bed and force-fed him, and Sören would only let her do that for a few bites.  
  
Tonight, he had no words. He just rolled away, buried in his blanket pile. When he moved, he smelled himself - it had been a few days since he'd showered, and he felt gross and disgusting, but had no motivation to shower. He'd just been sleeping, and lying awake. Today, he'd had a particularly nasty set of flashback nightmares about his uncle Einar, remembering his words:  
  
 _You are nothing. You will never be anything but nothing. You are worthless._  
  
He'd tried his entire life to prove that wrong, but he'd met with failure again and again. He couldn't handle the clerkship in med school, and failed becoming a doctor. The first great love of his life, Alejandro, had left him suddenly. Same with Dooku. He was a thirty-three-year-old barista, and couldn't even handle getting up and going to work since he'd moved back in with Frankie. He couldn't even paint or draw out his pain. It was like the void Alejandro had left, where he'd stopped creating for over a year then, too, except it was worse this time, because  _it had happened again_. Dooku had taken his already vulnerable heart and smashed it. At least Alejandro had the excuse of being forced into an arranged marriage by his very Catholic, and probably very criminal, family, though it still stung - he could have fought it, if he'd cared enough, like he should have cared after five years.   
  
Dooku? Was just bored.  
  
Sören would  _hate_  him, if he could feel anything other than grief. Devastation.  
  
Increasingly, the urge to just give up. No more failing. No more breaking, falling apart, drowning in his grief, his fire burning out.  
  
 _Murderer. Kinslayer. This is your punishment. This is what you deserve._  
  
Sören closed his eyes and sighed.  
  
"Sören? Did you fucking hear me? Made you grilled cheese and soup. I know it's not fancy, but you like grilled cheese -"  
  
Sören pulled the covers over his head, shutting Frankie out as best as he could without having to expend himself to make words.  
  
Frankie left in a huff, and Sören continued laying there, drifting half-in and half-out of consciousness. He could hear Frankie's voice in another room, heard her crying, and part of him felt bad - he knew he'd caused her tears - but he didn't think she should be wasting her tears on him. A little while later, he felt Frankie shaking him through the blanket pile, and finally Frankie used the Force to throw off the covers. Before Sören could reach out with his own Force powers to snatch them back, Frankie waved her hand and Sören felt himself immobilized.  
  
"Sören," Frankie said, "I'm kicking yer arse out of here."  
  
So now he'd gone from bad to worse. He was going to be homeless, thanks to the only friend he really had?  
  
"I just talked to Margrét." Frankie let go of the grip she had on Sören.  
  
Sören just lay there, too stunned to try to make a go for the return of his blanket fort.  
  
"Margrét," Frankie went on, "has just bought a one-way, non-refundable ticket with your name on it to Reykjavik. You're leaving tomorrow afternoon. I'm taking you to Heathrow, and she's picking you up at Keflavik."  
  
Sören rubbed his face like a wet cat. Then he found his words. "I'm not going."  
  
"You're going, or I'm calling the police," Frankie said. "I asked Margrét how I should handle this, and she's not taking any shit here. You're moving in with her, and you're going to get some fucking  _help_  and get out of this... this..." Frankie threw up her hands. "This emo bullshit. I can't take seeing you like this anymore. I've tried to reason with you - this isn't the end of the world, that guy's too old for you anyway, you'll find someone else - but it's like you're dying inside, and I don't know what else the fuck to do anymore." Frankie started crying again. "I'm sorry, Sören, I love you, but I'm worried I'm going to come home one of these days soon and find you fucking dead. So this is how it is. You're going back to Iceland now, and your sister's going to look after you until you can... pull your head out of your sodding arse." Frankie sobbed.  
  
Frankie sat on the edge of Sören's bed, and used the Force to thrust the food at him, which had gotten cold. Sören was too stunned to argue, and nibbled at the grilled cheese. Even cold, he'd had so little food as of late that it was like divine nectar.  
  
After he ate, Frankie took out two suitcases and started taking out Sören's things. "I can ship the rest of your stuff to you once you're out there," Frankie said. "Your sister will pay for that, too."  
  
Sören rubbed his face like a wet cat. He didn't know what to say.  
  
He couldn't sleep that night - a consequence of sleeping most of the day, as well as nerves with the impending flight, but also what that flight back would mean. There was a bitter irony involved: he had left Reykjavik for London in 2015, in the flaming wreckage of grief over Alejandro. Now he was leaving London because of Dooku, the other man who had broken his heart. And in much the same way. One day things were fine and they looked destined to be together forever, the next...  
  
 _And they left for exactly the same reason._  
  
When morning came, Sören finally dragged himself into the shower, taking a long one, not wanting to offend whoever he had to sit next to on the plane. He didn't protest when Frankie dragged him downstairs and into a cab, climbing in next to him. They didn't say anything to each other all the way to Heathrow.  
  
Finally at the airport, while Sören waited, he and Frankie got a cup of coffee together.  
  
"I don't expect you to thank me right now," Frankie said, "but you better keep in touch."  
  
Sören nodded weakly.  _I don't know why you even bother with me_ , he thought to himself.  
  
"I sodding  _heard_  that," Frankie said, giving him a look. "Of  _course_  I'd bother with you. You're  _my best friend_. You being an emo cunt doesn't change that."  
  
Sören gave her the finger, and Frankie gave him the finger back, and Sören smiled despite himself.  
  
"I will miss you," Sören said finally.  
  
"Well, good. Give a fuck about  _something._ " Frankie leaned across the table and affectionately tousled his curls. "Don't let that bastard get you down, you hear?"  
  
"God, Frankie, sometimes I think you hate him worse than I do."  
  
"He broke your fucking  _heart_  and you are the purest bean to ever walk the face of this gay fucking Earth." Normally that turn of phrase would make Sören snort, but he was still too caught up in his grief, and Frankie frowned, feeling it across their bond. "I swear on me grandmum, if I ever fucking  _see_  him again I will punch him in the fucking gut."  
  
At the departure gate, Sören and Frankie clung to each other tightly, lingering, not wanting to let go. Finally Frankie broke away, put him in a headlock, and gave him a noogie.  
  
"Oi, Sören. Your sister will take good care of you, yeah?" Frankie waved as she walked off.  
  
Margrét was impossible to miss at Keflavik - there weren't too many six-foot-tall women with waist-length curly black hair and multiple piercings wearing elegant gothic lolita walking around. Margrét made a beeline for him. "You lost weight," was the first thing she said, the disapproval strong in her voice and across their Force bond; Sören had always been thin, but now he was gaunt, the result of barely eating for two weeks.  
  
Sören ran a hand through his curls. "You, ah, you know, you didn't have to do this."  
  
"Yes, I fucking did." Margrét took his hand and marched him towards the baggage claim, like he was a small child and she was his mother.  
  
  
_  
  
 _Reykjavik, Iceland_  
  
Sören had been staying with his sister for close to a month. When Margrét had to go to the UK for a few days to handle the close of her lawsuit against Kylo Ren - and visit her girlfriend Frankie - Sören was left to stay with their cousin Ari.  
  
The last time Sören had lived with Margrét, he'd been using the office in the back of her bar as a single-room occupancy, since her flat was small, one bedroom. There was none of that this time around, as Margrét didn't trust Sören to be by himself. He was on the living room couch, which was uncomfortable and awkward in cramped space and lack of privacy.  
  
Ari's flat in Reykjavik wasn't much bigger but seemed palatial in comparison - his couch at least folded out to a bed. Sören resented being shuffled off to him like a small child needing supervision, but Ari and Margrét pointed out that him even getting angry about it was a good sign. It meant he was caring about something again.  
  
Margrét had exercised tough love with her brother the last few weeks, making him live on a schedule, where they were inseparable for most of the day. Margrét made him see a doctor about a med change, start going to therapy again, and start eating again - after a couple embarrassing incidents of Sören refusing to eat and Margrét spoon-feeding him like a baby, Sören finally ate on his own, but only when he and Margrét had meals together, he still wasn't snacking, and otherwise didn't seem much interested in food.  
  
He hadn't been making art, though Margrét insisted he bring his art supplies to Ari's flat anyway.  
  
Sören expected a softer touch from his cousin Ari, who hid in plain sight as a Force sensitive by teaching yoga, doing Reiki, and giving the occasional Tarot reading; Ari was very much the Sensitive New Age Guy, and loved magical things like Tolkien and the music of Kate Bush and Stevie Nicks. He burned a great deal of incense, and drank copious quantities of green tea. But Sören was wrong about Ari being a softer touch - he too was a hardass about Sören being on a schedule, and eating properly, and Ari didn't leave him to his own devices, making Sören come with him to the yoga studio as his "temporary assistant".  
  
One of Ari's students had died that week, leaving behind a cat, and Ari had taken in the cat. Ari already had a cat, and his flat was small and had a one-pet policy, so he was looking at rehoming his dead student's cat. The black-and-white, chartreuse-eyed, pink-nosed cat climbed on Sören like he owned him - every time Sören would put him back on the floor, especially when he was trying to sketch for the first time in a month, the cat would climb back on him, purring loudly.  
  
Margrét tried, and failed, to contain her amusement when she picked up Sören and found him with a cat carrier.  
  
"This is Snúdur," Sören explained.  
  
"I see."  
  
When they got back to Margrét's flat, she had Sören sit down. "We need to talk," she said, which was never a good sign, and Sören braced himself, holding Snúdur defensively, preparing himself to be told he couldn't have the cat.  
  
But that wasn't it. "I won the lawsuit," Margrét said. "I'm giving half to LGBT charity, and I'm giving a quarter of what's leftover after that to you, on the condition that you move out."  
  
Sören's jaw dropped. He tried to make words, and couldn't. He continued stroking the cat, who was purring more loudly.  
  
Finally Sören said, "I don't understand. You were all up in arms about me coming back here and living with you -"  
  
"Which was always meant to be a temporary solution until you got on your feet again." Margrét gestured to the cat. "That. Right there. Tells me you want to live."  
  
Sören skritched Snúdur's chin. "I suppose you're right." He looked down. "When do I have to be out of here?"  
  
"I can give you about a week," Margrét said. "Two at the most. But not more than that, because the longer I delay the inevitable, the worse it's going to be. This is the point where mammi bird has to push baby bird out of the nest."  
  
"Even though my wings are broken."  
  
"I think they're on the mend, if you have someone else to catch worms for." Margrét gestured to the cat again. "Well, maybe not worms."  
  
"I don't think he'd like worms very much, would you? No, you'd like fish, and I'm going to spoil your little fuzzy tummy with all the fishes, yes I am," Sören said to the cat in baby talk.  
  
Margrét shook her head, laughing.  
  
Margrét made Sören come down to the bar with her in the evening. It was the one time when Sören could get privacy if he wanted it, where he'd be allowed to sit in the office, away from the noise of the crowd, and surf the Internet or do what he wanted to do. Occasionally he did come out to say hello to some of Margrét's friends, and tonight he lingered for awhile serving drinks with his sister. He recognized Margrét's friend Kol, who came to the bar once a week to every two weeks - close to seven feet tall, and looked like something out of a Viking metal band with long red hair, but was prettier than the Viking metal types tended to be, with high cheekbones, full lips, and piercing eyes. When he saw Sören he smiled warmly, and Sören smiled back.  
  
"Hej Kol," he said.  
  
"Hej Sören. What's new with you?"  
  
Margrét put a hand on Sören's shoulder and said to Kol, "He's moving out in a week or so."  
  
"Oh really?" Kol looked at Sören with interest. "Where are you going?"  
  
"I don't know," Sören said with a shrug. "Haven't thought about it."  
  
Kol's curious look became one of concern. "Shouldn't you have a plan in place if you're moving out?"  
  
"Já, probably. That's what smart people do." Sören gave a sheepish smile. "I've never been the smart one. That's my physicist brother."  
  
Margrét snorted. "Dag forgets to tie his shoes." She smacked him in the back of the head and mussed his curls. "You'll figure it out."  
  
"Well, we'll miss seeing you around," Kol said. "Your smile always lights up the room."  
  
Sören bit his lower lip, feeling his cheeks flush. " _Takk._ "  
  
Sören felt shy enough after that to go to the office and draw - he was sketching Snúdur, wearing a crown like a royal cat, batting around gems on the floor like they were cat toys. He was interrupted by a knock at the door, and said "Come in" without looking because it was usually Margrét bringing dinner - but then he felt the presence at the door. It was enough like Margrét's that between that and the timing he hadn't thought much about it - the same bright sunshine - but he looked up at Kol.  
  
"Hej, your sister said I could come back here," Kol said. "I hope you don't mind."  
  
"Er, no." Sören put down his sketching and leaned back in the chair.  
  
"Oh, you draw?" Kol looked at the sketchpad. "That's really cute. Is that your cat?"  
  
Sören nodded, biting his lower lip again, feeling sheepish. "I just got him, but, já, that's my little Snúdur."  
  
"He's adorable. And you sketch very well. Your sister mentioned your art, but wow, it's something else to see it in person, and this is just a sketch, already there's so much... life?"  
  
Sören smiled. " _Takk._ "  
  
"So, listen..." Kol cleared his throat. "Before you move out of here and go wherever it is you're going, you want to get dinner sometime?"  
  
Sören blinked slowly. He pointed at Kol, then at himself, then back to Kol and back to himself again, and then felt like an idiot. "You mean, like, a date?"  
  
"It could be that, or we could just hang out. Whatever you're comfortable with."  
  
Sören considered it, and then he gave a nod. "We can see what happens."  
  
"How does day after tomorrow work? I can pick you up at 6?"  
  
"That works for me."  
  
Kol grinned. "See you then."  
  
Sören watched his ass on the way out, the way his long hair swayed back and forth with his hips, like a dancer. Sören couldn't deny that Kol was very attractive, and being around him made him feel a little giddy. But he still felt weird about it.  
  
On the other hand, the only way to move forward was to keep moving forward.  
  
Kol picked him up two days later as promised. They went to Fishmarket, and both ordered the puffin first course and salmon main course. Sören wasn't good at small talk, and Kol seemed fairly reserved, letting Sören do more of the talking. But then it came back to Sören's impending move.  
  
"I still don't know what I'm going to do," Sören said. "I have to do  _something._ "  
  
"What do you  _want_  to do?" Kol asked. "Surely, there must be something that's been a secret dream of yours for years, even if you haven't been able to indulge it before now due to lack of money, or maybe you think it's too silly and not practical."  
  
"Honestly? I'd like to open an art school," Sören said, "where anyone could come regardless of ability and just... express themselves. And you're right - I haven't had the funds, and it hasn't been practical. I have the funds now, but..."  
  
"But what?"  
  
Sören frowned into his Brennivín. "I don't want to do it in Reykjavik. Too many memories here." He thought of Alejandro, and then he thought of the year after Alejandro broke up with him, and he'd been so dead inside. Reykjavik felt haunted.  
  
"Are you thinking of going back to London?"  
  
Sören snorted, and downed the glass. "No." Dooku was there.  
  
"Is there anywhere you've been that really speaks to you?"  
  
Sören nodded. "Akureyri is my hometown. It's small, it's, well... it's not the best place for me to try to date men... but for better or worse, it's where I came from. I know the land there like the back of my hand, and it knows me." Sören immediately felt self-conscious saying that - it sounded like his cousin's New Age stuff, but it also came dangerously close to revealing anything about his Force sensitivity, which Sören did not discuss with people as a rule, unless he knew they also had it. "I used to drive out to the Goðafoss to just, like... find peace there. There's something about the fjords, and the way the sky looks at night, and it's just..." Sören sighed. "I ache for it."  
  
"You could set up an art school there, maybe?"  
  
Sören ran a hand through his curls. "It wouldn't be the worst idea in the world, I'd have less competition for paying members than I would if I stayed in Reykjavik. It's just that going home is really loaded for me. I want a simpler life, yes, but it also feels kind of like..." He made a vague hand gesture, not knowing how to explain what he was feeling. "Like the end of an era, in a way. There was a time when I was desperate to get out of Akureyri and see the big city. See the world itself. Now I'm desperate to get out of the big, busy world, and just... go back to something familiar."  
  
"It makes sense to me," Kol said. "You've been through a lot, from what I heard."  
  
Sören pursed his lips. "What have you heard?"  
  
Kol swirled his drink around. "Enough." Their eyes met. "Enough that I felt you might need a little extra moral support."  
  
"How very kind of you."  
  
"It's not charity," Kol said. "From what I've seen of you, myself, you're a good person. And your sister is very fond of you. She doesn't mince words if someone's on her shit list."  
  
"And you're very fond of my sister," Sören said, putting two and two together.  
  
Kol smiled into his drink. "That would be a way of putting it. But, you know." He looked back at Sören. "Your sister's fond of a few people, not just myself."  
  
"A few, já." Margrét and Frankie had a row while Margrét was in London, and Sören was trying to stay neutral - it was hard to take sides between his best friend and his sister - but they had been so  _good_  for each other, Frankie truly accepted Margrét being trans, poly, kinky... and he was hoping they'd mutually pull their heads out of their asses and get back together.  
  
 _Just like you're hoping you and Dooku get back together._  The sting.  _Or maybe even you and Alejandro._  It had been four years and it still felt too soon to bring that up; in many ways it felt like he and Alejandro had shared decades together, not five years.  
  
 _Fuck. Could you not_ , Sören argued with himself internally.  
  
He and Kol went to the park afterwards, watching the sunset together. It would have been romantic if Sören wasn't feeling the pang of his lost loves, and indeed, when they got back in Kol's car, Sören was feeling even more awkward than before. On the one hand, he felt like he should reclaim himself and go back to Kol's flat and ride that ride for awhile. On the other hand...  
  
 _Hi my name's Sören and I'm hung up on my two exes._  
  
Kol drove Sören back to the bar. "I'd give you a kiss goodnight, but..."  
  
Sören patted his knee. "Thank you for understanding."  
  
"I do." Kol nodded. "Healing takes time. That, I understand maybe more than you think I do." He took Sören's hand, and gave it a gentle kiss. "I hope you find that in Akureyri, and the next time I see you, you'll light up the room even more."  
  
Sören threw his arms around him, gave him a squeeze, and then pecked his cheek. "I had fun this evening," he said. "I'll see you the next time I'm in Reykjavik, já?"  
  
"Yes." Kol grinned. "Good night, Sören."  
  
"Good night, Kol." Sören bounded up to the flat, where Snúdur meowed like he hadn't seen his owner in days, even though it had been just a couple hours. Sören picked him up and skritched him, smiling at the deep, rumbly purr. "Hej Snúdur. We're going to go on an adventure."  
  
Margrét hugged Sören from behind, and squeezed him. "You figured it out?"  
  
Sören nodded. "I'm going home."  
  
Margrét knew without being told that meant Akureyri, and nodded. "Things will get better." She chucked Sören's chin, making him laugh. "Things are already better."  
  
Sören shrugged, still holding the cat. "I mean, they still kind of suck."  
  
"A wise man once told me,  _There's this fire in us that refuses to die. That keeps burning. And it's a fire that transforms. We've all had our trials by fire, our transformations. This is yours._  He also told me,  _I want to watch you become who you really are._ " Margrét took Sören's face in her hands, and their eyes met. "This is your time, now. You will go up there, and you will find your destiny. Maybe not next week, maybe not even this year. It's a work in progress. But you'll get there." She kissed Sören's forehead. "That fire in you hasn't died yet. It's still burning, so bright even in your darkest hour... and it's a bonfire, a signal to whatever is coming, to come."  
  
"Coming, eh?"  
  
Margrét facepalmed. "Goddammit, Sören."  
  
Sören grinned.  
  
  
_  
  
  
  
Coldagnir felt Vanimórë reach into his awareness.  _Nemrúshkeraz._  
  
 _Not yet time,_  Coldagnir told him, lingering in his car at the curb in front of the flat, looking up at the window, watching Sören and Margrét hugging.  _But soon enough, the threads will align. The last pieces are falling into place now._


End file.
